


Saving Grace

by BreakingBenFanatic



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Big Brother Minho, Big brother Newt, Blood and Violence, Cannibalism, Crank!Thomas, Cranks, Depressed Thomas, Double-sided!Thomas, Electrocution, Gore, Mentions of forced drugs, No Slash, No pairings - Freeform, Plot Twists, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective brothers, Schizophrenic behavior, WICKED | WCKD Is Good, WICKED | WCKD Is Not Good
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-18 10:27:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5925061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BreakingBenFanatic/pseuds/BreakingBenFanatic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PLOT TWIST: After leaving the Maze, after Chuck dies, Thomas is forced from his friends and is taken to WICKED HQ, where he is wiped clean of the memories of the Gladers... And those memories are REPLACED. </p><p>He was abandoned, WICKED is Good... All that they do to him is for a good cause. Apparently. </p><p>Now newcomers that are very familiar to him (rescue) take him back from WICKED and he is thrown into a... trial? The Scorch Trials they call it. Where people are slowly going insane like zombies in scorching temperatures... And is there a cure? </p><p>Yes there is, and Thomas knows it...</p><p>It's in his blood. </p><p>Who can he trust? Them who call themselves Gladers, or WICKED? Will he be free or be locked away once more?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saving Grace

**Author's Note:**

> One thing only... I LOVE THE MAZE RUNNER!

_"Thomas... WICKED is good...-"_

_"Th-Thank... You..."_

_"Chuck! Chuck!"_

_"Thomas... Everything's going to change..."_

_"All of it! All of it happened because of you! It's all your fault!"_

_"... Teresa we did this to them."_

_"You're already scared. I'm scared."_

_"I'm... I'm one of them... them- them~"_

_...._

**_..._** **_"Hey... Thomas.. Thomas, You gotta wake up.... Thomas, you need to wake up!... Thomas.... THOMAS!"_ **

A gasp erupts through the whisper and glazed hazel eyes snap open wide, accustomed to the darkness of the room that surround those eyes with concrete walls. Pale lips gape with a struggled breath that refused to be taken.

Thomas had awoke from his dreams...

For the first few seconds, he tried his best to catch his breath; they came in and out in shaky, unleveled ways. The cold sweat dribbled down his face and down to his chin, where it sailed to the nape of his neck, tickling the sensitive and sore skin. With a tremble he bit his lip to stop a sob from escaping him. The voices that were too familiar- his including, rang inside his head in a haunting manner. The dream like most times had been dark. But the whispers and voices were always heard clearly.

Always...

The darkness of the room seemed to light a bit to a dim state. This gave Thomas an advantage to look at his familiar surroundings. Nothing new. All there is was a desk, with no paper or pen, an old book of poems and tales by Edgar Allen Poe, and a bed. He looked up at his arms that were suspended at the sides of his head, each were tightly stepped in leather cuffs that were connected wisely in wire. Though it was dark, he could see the rawness of his wrists peeking from under the cuffs.

He clenched his eyes shut and gave a tug at the cuffs, almost immediately regretting his actions and whimpered. The leather felt like fire on his tender wrists. And the wire was just another thing to the pain. He could feel the steel tighten around his wrists. A stray tear rolled down his cheek and fell gently onto his pillow, soaking within the cotton. The teen squirmed in the bed with discomfort and a sob. The sting of his wrists and the sore of his arms made his movements unbearable but he still desired for the damned cuffs to move.

The bags under his eyes crinkled and creased to show his agony as he stared to the locked metal doors. Silent prayers passed his soul. After a long moment of staring in silence, he decided to speak...:

_"Please..."_

Oh, how he hated the way his voice cracked and played a broken note, or how his throat stung by the use. He swallowed dry spit with a heavy gulp and dry cough and spoke louder. This time, desperate tears fell.

"Please! Please, I'm sorry!"

 Never missing a beat, the metal doors cracked open and a blinding ray of light hit Thomas' face, causing him to look away. He could make out the heavy noise of feet step closer towards him and nearly screamed in relief once the voice of Janson spoke, gruff and calm.  

 "Hello, Thomas."

 Thomas broke down in a chorus of raking sobs and looked pleading up at the man, meeting his cold eyes.

 "Please! Please Janson! Please!" he begged.

 Janson stared down at the boy, unphased the slightest and reached a hand down, brushing a stray hair from Thomas' eyes. "Please what, Thomas?"

 Thomas tugged at the cuffs and made a cry visible. The sting doubled and it made it feel as if the wire were biting down to his bones. More tears fell like rain. "Please... Please let me go! I-I'm sorry, I-I won't do it again-"

 Janson's gaze turned into a more annoyed one and he rolled his eyes. "Sorry for what? What will you not do again?" he stated firmly.

 Thomas bit his trembling lip and gulp down the few tears that made it pas his lips. He whimpered and bowed his chin to his chest. His breaths grew shaky and made him feel like a fish with no water. He knew he had to correct his wrongs. He had to do so, or the world would never be fair. "I'm..." A sob broke free again but he caught it quickly, "I apologize for releasing _it_ and trying to hurt the doctors... And you."

The cold slender fingers of Janson dipped under Thomas' chin and they lifted his head up so he was meeting gazes with the man's steel eyes. "Thomas, why are you sorry?" They seemed to grow colder than ice as he awaited an answer. Thomas's lip twitched and he made a discomforting noise, trying to move his head away from the man's hold. Janson did not force him to not do so, but his tone- a low seething hiss, said otherwise.

" _Thomas,_ I will so happily leave you in your bonds for a _month_ if you disobey to answer- WHY, are you sorry?" Before he allowed any response from the teen, he pulled a black remote from his pocket and pressed the large red button.

 Instantly, Thomas felt a very excruciating pain shoot over his boy like a white sear and with a shriek, his body tensed and shook like a leaf. The veins in his arm and around his neck were visible and blue as he thrashed in his sheets. It felt like billions of needles digging deep upon each inch of skin all at the same time. It held there for a good ten seconds before Janson released the button and stared calmly down at the red sobbing boy.

 Thomas desperately tried to curl into himself and vomit. Black dots danced around his vision yet he still managed to keep vision.

 "Well?" Janson growled.

 Every part of Thomas shook, even his tongue refused to create words; the ability to roll pleads or an answer seemed downright impossible. A large slide of sweat slid down his skin and fell against the pillow. Sputtering and groggy, Thomas spoke:

 "I-I-I.... I-I-I... Ja-Anson... Pl-ple-ple..." With a exhausted sigh, Thomas tugged limply on the cuffs.

 "That's not an answer," the man barked before pushing harshly on the button.

A searing voltage shot down from Thomas' cuffs and yet again covered his entire body, inside and out. Only this time, the shock get like someone had cut him open alive and began to pour lava slowly into his body. It was beyond excruciating and unbearable. It tore into the boy like a knife to paper. With an inhuman wail, Thomas felt his body arch from the bed, trying to relive the pressure of the electricity coursing through his body. Tears tracked rapidly down his face but none would be able to tell his tears apart from his sweat. His whole body looked as if someone dunk him in a pool repeatedly. The restraints holding him clinked against the metal of the bed and every moment caused the wire around the boy's wrists to tighten.

 Thomas gagged by the smell of burning flesh reeping his nose. He tipped his head back against his soaked pillow and watched as the dots in his vision grew bigger every millisecond. The pain turned his body to a numb corpse and the dots grew so immense that he could barely see that his eyes were beginning to roll back. He convulsed and twitched violently, wanting to just lay there and die suddenly. 

 This electrocution he was receiving was not the first and Thomas knew damn well that this would never be the last. But damn him if he wasn't going to try to stay off this damn bed. 

 "S-So-s-sorry," he choked out; his voice sounded like it had spoken greater days. The saliva forming in his mouth created a pool of voltage which burned his tongue. But his words spoke greater towards mercy. 

Janson released the button and Thomas' torso fell flat against the mattress. He could feel his sheets soaked from underneath him and he knew he had no doubt pissed himself a river. But the relief from the voltage was all that mattered. Thomas couldn't feel his entire body, but he could tell that by the sounds of the bed creaking that his limbs jostled repeatedly. The convulsing had stopped just a moment before he would gag again. The stench of his wrists burning made him sick. 

"Come again,Thomas," Janson spoke. This time, he sounded more gentle, but Thomas could still sense the coldness in his voice. Like Janson knew he had won. As if the man were mocking Thomas in the young teen's week state. 

Thomas didn't care... 

Once he was sure he could speak a bit more... Minded and clear, he croaked: 

I-I... I won't-won't.... Do it again... I-I'm, s-sorry that I-I disobeyed your ord-orders and... And let it out." 

.... 

....

Moment- long moments of hard silence tore through the room as Thomas rested in defeat upon the sheets. He had said it. Mercy had been placed over him. 

Then... Like a blessing, he felt the binds holding him being removed. The hot feeling of his wrists stung at every movement, but he felt too tired and weak to even wince. 

Janson spoke again. His voice sounded like a dying echo to Thomas' ears. "I am becoming very tired of this, Thomas. No matter what we do, it seems that you just cannot keep that damn side of you on lock down. It is becoming an addiction that must be put away if we want progress in  _copying_ the cure to continue any faster." 

Thomas nearly screamed in relief when he felt his hands fall limply at the sides of his head and throb from being held in a position for so long. He tried to block out the man's words, he wished to hear no more and just fall victim to an endless slumber. To die slowly away in his sleep and from this Hell... 

Just as he closed his heavy eyes, he felt Janson's cold slender fingers dip under his chin and lift his head up. Once more, the teen met gazes with the man. Janson's ice orbs were somewhat kinder and soft, trying to read the boy laying on the soaked bed. The beaten, frustrated, scared boy. "Thomas... You do understand that I only want what is best for you... Right?" 

By his words, Thomas felt himself crumble away. The silent scream stayed in a tight spot in his throat. The silent words " _Then please, please, let me go. Let me leave..."_

Yet, just as Janson had heard his raging thoughts, he crouched down to eye level and Thomas felt his chin being pinched by the man's fingers- a firm and sure grip. 

"You are never leaving, Thomas, until WICKED is successful. You, my boy, are very important. Your  _friends_ could not see that..." 

A new found energy had arisen in the boy by the mention of his friends. It brought the familiar stab to his chest as images and faces flashed before his vision. They were first smiling and laughing towards him with a warmth of acceptance... He remembers their names... 

Minho... 

Newt...

Teresa...

Winston....

Frypan. 

Ch... Chuck. 

Tears began to well back up in hazel brown eyes. Within a second, their faces became something that would forever be looked upon by Thomas as betrayal. Their eyes were soft and cold. Shamefully, each one of their heads turned away from him as if he were some disease or bug. They paid no mind to his silent pleads. Then, Chuck came to his sight... 

And Thomas released a broken cry. He paid no mind to his sore arms and curled into himself. All that blood oozing from Chuck's chest and the dried crimson that stained his chubby cheeks and neck. The way his once bright eyes were dim and lifeless. No matter how hard Thomas clenched his eyes shut or pulled at his hair, he still saw Chuck. Who just would stare at him in confusion. 

 _"You promised, Thomas,"_ Chuck whispered. 

Thomas shrieked in agony and terror. He screamed until his throat ran raw. He tried speaking, tried to tell how sorry he was for breaking that promise. But nothing would come out.

Janson just watched him wither away. And once the images fell into the darkness of Thomas' memory, the teen collapsed in a ball of misery and broken sobs. 

"Why cry for them, Thomas?" Janson asked, "they  _gave_ you up. They threw you at our feet, just so they could run off in paradise! Why cry for them?! Not that I am saying that WICKED is bad, it is one hundred percent good. We do all this for a greater cause. What we do to you, we do it to save many. You should be honoured, young man.... You will be our key to a new world... Thomas, we care for you because you are  _special to us._ "

Thomas clenched his eyes shut and curled more into himself. He didn't want to be special. He wanted to be Thomas. Just Thomas. Special seemed like an evil, terrible thing to be at the moment. 

Then, just like many times before, Thomas felt Janson gather his broken, shaken form and held him close. Feeling pressed to the man's chest made the teen want to scream and kick, but he felt to weak and tired at the moment. He felt to heart wrecked. His limbs trembled. His mind were haunted by memories. 

So just like a child who just had a terrible dream, Thomas leaned into the embrace. Just like that he was captured by fake sympathy and weakened even more. He fell into another fit of tears as Janson patted his back and whispered assuring words like he was trying to hypnotize the teen. Thomas wondered if Janson minded Thomas pissing himself, but Thomas thought the man had became immune. He probably understood things like one pissing himself was a perk to being electrocuted like some wild animal. 

 Thomas felt used, shattered, and betrayed; he felt used by WICKED and shattered from what had happened to Chuck, and betrayed from what the Gladers had done to him. Those he had trusted turned from him and ran away to a better life, leaving him with WICKED. Now WICKED was all Thomas had left. Stuck in a demon's arms is how low the situation became. 

"Come now. Let's get you cleaned up, young lad. There is still much work to be done...." 

* * *

 

Hours later, Thomas was escorted back to his room (more like _cell)_ by a doctor that would not just shut up about progress being made.  

 "Exciting isn't it? Soon we will be able to duplicate your blood once we find a way to conceal it properly. With just the right precautions... Good will come..." 

He yipped and yapped as he pulled out his key card, but Thomas only focused on the pain being afflicted on his burned wrists that had metal cuffs adding a more stinging pain to the wounds. Then his neck he noticed when he tried to pop a crick. His neck felt sore by the many pricks of needles he receives daily. One stretch made him wince. 

 He was tired. Exhausted. So exhausted that he could sleep and never wake up. 

The door opened and the doctor looked at the teen with a soft smile that seemed like mockery to Thomas. He  _hated_ their smiles and hated the way they acted like they cared for his well being. 

All they wanted was... 

The doctor clasped his rough calloused hand on Thomas' sore shoulder, making they younger wince. "Almost, Thomas. We're almost there," he said before moving Thomas into the room. The cuffs were removed and soon the doctor left, the doors slid closed, and it became dark once more. Thomas stood at the center of the room for a moment, rubbing his abused wrists, then sighed heavily, walking to the desk. There, a small computer awaited him. He sat down on the chair and opened the laptop, clicking and typing away. With one last press of the button, a window opened and revealed himself looking back. 

It was a webcam. 

Thomas clicked the record button and paused a moment, thinking of what to say... He then looked up into the screen and put on a weak smile, sad and small. 

 _"_ H... Hey. It's me, Thomas... I know you guys are probably doing greater things with your new lives. Probably making paradise, eh? Perhaps a few little Minhos and small pro chefs of mini Frypans?" 

He chuckled brokenly to himself and looked down. "Yeah. Sounds nice..." He bit his lip. "Really nice... Better than the Glade I bet?... No more Grievers, no more running, no more searching, just... Just staying neutral... Hey, I  probably say this in every video log because like Alby once told me, I'm too much of a curious little klunk, but..." His throat became a bit too tight and cracked. He lowered his head and cleared his throat. Breathing shakily, he looked back up, not surprised to see his hazels shining. "W... Why? Why leave me too?" A single tear slipped down his cheek and he quickly caught it with his hand. No... He can't cry. 

"Minho? Newt? Teresa?... Guys I'm scared..." His bottom lip trembled, "I'm _terrified_.... Things- there are things happening to me. They say I _am_ the flare. I don't understand what they tell me, they uh, say it's like a disease that infects the mind and slowly takes over its host. What is in my blood, WICKED needs it. They said it could be a way to save whatever is left of humanity... But oh God, the pain that comes to it... Every day" A sob. "Every day it is either screaming or crying like a giant priss. Today's punishment was electrocution, hehe. Hurts like a bitch..." 

He gripped his bicep, trying to find a comfort in clutching onto it.  Blinking a few tears away, he rubbed his sleeve across his face. "Sometimes... I feel as if this were some nightmare that I might one moment wake up. Just... Wake up... I miss you guys. I miss the Glade... I miss my mother." 

More tears fall. He blinks and looks back up at the screen, smiling shakily. 

"Did you know that? I remember my mother. But not my father. My mother... She was beautiful and she was smart. She told me every night that I am special and I am a treasure to her." A sob escapes his lips and he covers his face. The ache coursing through him hurts and rips him layer by layer. "But I  _hate_ being special. Being special means being valuable here. I don't know what I did but, I'm sorry for being special." As Thomas looked back up to the screen, he could see his eyes darken slowly into a glare. It held malice and deep anger. Madness. His pained, hurt complexion suddenly changed within seconds into a twisted gaze of nothing good. The tears stopped  falling all at once and sunk back into his eyes. He licked the inside of his cheek, becoming neutral. His pale skin grew pale, to a somewhat grey tone and the veins on his neck turned to a blackish color. Thomas tilted his head.

"And..." he stood from his chair and leaned close to the camera, teeth clenched and fists shaking, "I am so sorry, that when I see you, I may have to  _rip out your very throats-"_ Realization of his actions hit Thomas and as quick as a flying blade, he slammed closed the computer and threw himself to his chair, breathing heavily and  shaking uncontrollably.

Of coarse, he understood what phase had came across his control. He understood that it all came from a deep dark thing inside of him. Eyes wide he gripped at his hairs and brought his knees up and close to his chest, in which he buried his face in. "Nonononono, stop Thomas, stop," he whispered. 

The voices returned. 

_" **All because of you"-**_

_**"MISTAKE"-** _

_**" You're one of them"-** _

_**"Property belongs to those who own it"-** _

_**"Give'im to them. At least we will all be bloody happy once more."** _

_**"He got Chuck killed... He deserves it."** _

_**"Goodbye Greenie."** _

Thomas fell off the chair and collapsed to his knees and held onto his head, screaming out, " _Shut up! SHUT UP! LEAVE ME ALONE!"_

**_"It's all your fault, Thomas"-_ **

**_"They abandoned you Thomas"-_ **

**_" No worries, WICKED has you, Thomas"-_ **

**_"I only want what is best for you"-_ **

The voices transitioned back to a chorus of every voice he has heard. And together like a booming choir, the chanted: 

**_"WICKED is Good"_ **

**_"WICKED is Good."_ **

_**"WICKED... Is... GOOD."** _

Finally, Thomas snapped,  _"GET OUTTA MY GODDAMN HEAD!!!"_

At once, everything went pure silent until all that echoed the room were the labored breaths of Thomas. His limbs shaking and eyes wide with terror, Thomas fell to his side and curled into a tight ball, murmuring words like prayers. He shook like a leaf. He begged for death to come upon him at the very second, and hoped that it would tear him from the damned world quick and painless. Whatever the Hell painless was. 

"Wake up, Thomas... It's a dream, so wake up Thomas... Wake up Thomas," he whispered to himself. "Wake up, and you'll probably be in the box again, starting over. Or maybe you fainted during a run... Maybe your still in the Glade..." 

That's when he caught it. It was a very quiet sound- a soft whisper and it had echoed from the back of his mind. All at once, Thomas had stopped speaking and shaking and just froze. He laid still, waiting for it to return... He hoped it would return... 

...

...

...

..... " _Thomas..."_

Thomas shot up to his knees and desperately looked around the dark room. That voice, that voice... It sounded... Familiar. And it was calling to him. 

"Hel- Gah!" Thomas yacked a bit by the sting of his raw throat and coughed before swallowing some moisture to speak again. "Hello?" 

...

...

...

Maybe he was hallucinating. No one could be in here. 

...

...

...

**_"Thomas."_ **

The teen gasped and shot to his feet, stumbling to the wall. That was too clear! The voice was so clear, it sounded like it was in this very room. It was a girl speaking, the one from his dreams. He knows it! 

"Hello!?" 

...

... 

" ** _Don't worry... We're coming for you Thomas. Hang in there, okay?"_**

Thomas furrowed his eyebrows. What? Before he could question the meaning of the girl's warning, a red light lit up the room in a crimson color and blinked on and off repeatedly. It was followed by the sounds of sirens blaring that caused Thomas to cover his ears with his palms. 

What the hell? 

Did... 

No it was impossible. The voice... The warning... Did it mean.... No, it couldn't be true...

Thomas, breathing heavily, whispered to himself in disbelief, "... Someone's broken into WICKED..." 


End file.
